Hello Valentine
by Crimson.Haven
Summary: Quick Drabble/Oneshot. Valentine, what do you taste like?


**Hello Valentine**

* * *

She pushed the door aside, letting the warm sunlight into the condemned tavern. It was an odd place to visit but not an odd choice for a meeting place. Was it awkward that faded decorations of merriment still hung around them? She stepped further into the building, golden eyes finding the decorations in various stages of decay.

She eyed the once colorful poster by her side,

Hello Valentine.

The words were off their lips, reading through the yellowed parchment. It was an odd phrase, planned out so well. Nailed by the wooden pole just beside where she was, as if fate had marked it there.

She turned to him, surprised. Not of his presence but of his attention towards the same poster she had read. He stood in silence, arms crossed over his chest. The very image of an assassin, his body screamed of it.

The assassin relaxes his stance, proceeds to close the distance from her. Should she run? There was no place he was not familiar with. He knew more of Runeterra than her, mapped out the very continent. Lacking in the specific details of geography may be but he was well-versed in the tales of nature. She stood her ground, escape was not an option.

He'd been the one to leave her the trail after all.

Golden eyes shifted to the words again, an odd weight on her tongue.

Valentine.

The word meant nothing and everything to both of them . Masked on the surface, they were arch-rivals; clad in the very banners of her home. There was resolution on her features as she strode proudly towards him. Maybe he too had been wearing his home too proudly, as he stayed in place. What was their conviction? The very story that they lived their lives by? What was he waiting for in return of gracing his presence in the outbacks of Noxus?

She studied him, noticing no difference in his attire. He stopped a few steps away from her, a stoic figure in anticipation. His posture gave off nothing, his face even less. And yet there was a smoldering of emotions behind the brown colors of his eyes. Everything that he could want was unattainable. A home? Such a thought was laughable, he'd perish it more often than not.

She too, wanted a home. A respite, a life without duties. His trail had lead her here, to the deep recesses of the woods to convene. What were his motives? Yet she couldn't stop the odd pull that gravitated around him, bringing her closer to his impassive frame.

Her gloved hand found the fabric of his tunic, clutched onto him. What he had started in Freljord, he never ceased. She could never find the right words to sum up his intentions nor did the emotions bubbling inside her find their peace.

Valentine.

The odd name akin to a lover. Was that his stance of her presence in his life? Ridiculous. He eyes the hand holding on his clothing, waiting for her. An attraction yes but a lover, he'd bedded women before-what made her different?

She tugs softly, a silent request. It's almost as if they've rehearsed these movements, so familiar and yet so unusual. The tall frame was a comfort, a familiar sight as he stepped towards her.

This was almost second nature.

With lips pressed against hers, he'd wondered why he stopped doing this.

 **...**

If she had to tell him what he tasted like, he was like dark chocolate.

Bitter to the very end but he held an odd sweetness that only comes from an acquired taste. Was this why she kissed him back? He tasted so much better than she remembered. The past had probably jarred her tongue but did it matter now? She craved for him, the very lips that was his own.

Was it why she clasped onto him for deal life? What was he? To put a spell on her who had never been enamored by the very idiosyncrasies of men.

Bittersweet. That was who he was.

The sweetness that comes after the first taste of bitterness. The sweet respite after the pain.

He was pain and desire, a package she couldn't really turn down. He was sin on flesh, carved by the very past he clads himself with.

Assassin. The word wraps around him like a blanket, blood is his paint and blades are his medium of choice. She's never been one for dark chocolate, hated the bitterness on the first bite.

And yet now, she craves for the very taste that is dark.

 **...**

In turn he too was immersed in his thoughts, fondly thinking how she was like milk chocolate.

A fond memory of childhood, the sweetness that tells only of innocence. He relished in her flavor, the very taste that made him alive. He wants it all, devours it all. It was his, this taste that makes her what she is now. Was it why he clings to her? The very fingers of his hands wrapped around her, so protectively like a treasured toy to a child.

The sweet comfort after pain, that was her taste. She was the balm to calm the storms within him, the softness to complement his harshness. Why does he cling to such a fragile thing? The very object that he thought he never needed. She was weakness, the weakness he thought never to gain.

But his mind and his ideals always clashed, always at war. Even now he questions his motives, holding the Demacian intimately against him. Molded into his hands like the perfect puzzle to the make him whole. The thought was ludicrous; he never believed in such fairy tales. There was only an odd attraction that he felt for her, the odd pull of nostalgia as his lips pressed on hers.

She was comfort, the one to rid the nightmares at night. The secret prayer he repeats at night. A temporary peace, a gentle dream.

He should be rid of her but how can he? When his tongue can only lavish the sweet milk chocolate off her lips?

* * *

 **Author's notes:** I'm still really busy with real life. I do apologize I haven't updated Tainted Wings for quite a while now. I hope this quick post-Valentines drabble is enough to compensate for missing out.

I'm also pretty active on Twitter and Tumblr so feel free to talk to me about the story if you want. Thanks for your constant support, it means a lot to me! ; u ;


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